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She’s Too Sexy for My Shirt

One of my chores was to manage the product closet. One day my crush came by to chat. The next thing I knew he was kissing me. The closet connected to a conference room, so I quickly shut the door. Our clothes started hitting the floor. He’d just peeled off my panties when I heard voices. We froze.

My boss had come into the conference room with some coworkers. Trapped! So why not? We picked up where we left off. The thrill was insane–the risk of discovery. Even better was trying to be quiet. When I was about to climax he gave me his shirt to bite down on. It smelled like his cologne, and my orgasm was seismic.

I don’t get out much, which is why I depend on Men’s Health magazine to stay current on new seduction techniques that can lead to mattress-rattling sex with beautiful women, just in case I ever decide to confer the gift of my love on the girls of the world. I mean, someday when I’ve successfully completed my five-year plan for world domination I’ll be combing the pussy out of my hair, but right now I’m sort of stuck in the supply closet here at Weingarten, Nicholls & Schultz, P.C.

Tri-lingual paper clips.

Don’t get me wrong, I like having total control of the Post-It Notes and Sharpies and legal pads (8 1/2 by 11 and 13!). It gives me a sense of power, which I never hesitate to use on Melanie in accounting when she comes by looking for a box of the Acco Jumbo Paper Clips. “Les trombones geants?” I say, arching my left eyebrow skyward like Jean-Paul Belmondo

“Les trombones geants? Mais oui, mon cheri!”

“I didn’t ask for a trombone,” she will say, and I merely chortle with a world-weary air. “That’s French for paper clip, baby,” I say, recalling Marvin Gaye on “‘Til Tomorrow,” when he drops that “Tu etais incroyable!”

“I don’t speak French,” she always says, and so I go to the third linguistic option on the red-and-white box. “Sujetapapeles tamano gigante?” After all, Spanish is the language of love.

“Can I just have a bleepin’ box of paper clips?” she’ll say–that’s when I know I drive her wild.

“Sure, baby, sure–no problem,” I say, moving to the metal racks, slowly, sensually. I give her a come-hither look as we part, but for some reason, she’s always been able to resist me. Until now.

Now I’ve got the new issue of Men’s Health–The Reader Issue! Boy, this edition is chock-full of tips on how to pleasure the woman in your life. Or your hand if, like me, you haven’t found “Ms. Perfect” yet. The teaser on the cover says it all: “The Best Sex I Ever Had–Her Secret To-Do List.”

Ain’t that just like a woman, to quote Louis Jordan. They want to be fully and completely satisfied–and yet they keep their wildest desires a secret! Which they publish in a national magazine with a circulation of 1,819,151.

Louis Jordan

But they’re not a secret any more, no sirree bob! It’s right there on p. 126: Women like to be confined to closets at work and have shirts stuffed in their mouths!

I have to say–you think you understand women just a little after years of reading Playboy and Penthouse, but those rags never ask the woman for her point of view. Who knew what was going on the dark recesses of the female libido while I was sitting by myself at Pizza Hut, all alone on a Friday night, watching other inferior males scooping up the women who rightfully should have been mine. After all, I have one of the most extensive collections of t-shirts in America–and I use Old Spice Soap-on-a-Rope!

There’s my Steve Miller Band shirt-it’s a classic. I’ve left it out on the paper cutter, just so Stephanie, the trusts-and-estates paralegal, will notice it and get the hint–I’m a guy who’s sensitive to a woman’s desire to gag on my undershirts and my scent. It’s a baseball shirt so the sleeves are dark–a great way to hide armpit sweat stains after forty years of wear. I know she finds it irresistible, she just won’t say so. So sly!

Then there’s my Star Wars t-shirt, the one with “It’s not wise to upset a Wookie!” on the front. God, the woman who gets that in her mouth is going to be one lucky gal!

I might try some Brut cologne on it, just for a change of pace.

And then there’s my Pope John Paul II shirt. I know, hardly the message you’d expect a rake, a libertine in his own mind like myself to wear, but women have that nesting instinct–the desire to settle down, unlike a ramblin’ gamblin’ man like myself. I personally could never confine myself to just one woman, but you’ve got to make her think that you would–if you want to get her into bed for a one-night stand.

I'm a Boston-area writer, author of two novels (most recently "Making Partner"), a baseball book about the Red Sox and the Yankees ("The Year of the Gerbil"), ten published plays and 45 books of humor available in print and Kindle formats on amazon.com. My latest book "Scooter & Skipper Blow Things Up!" was released by HumorOutcasts Press last year. My humor has appeared in The Atlantic, The Christian Science Monitor, The Boston Globe and Barron's, and I am working on a biography of Johnny Hodges, Duke Ellington's long-time alto sax player for Oxford University Press .

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